Wishful Dreaming
by Lewlou15
Summary: All his usual coping techniques aren't working so Dean finds and goes on a hunt but instead finds himself a new crutch. Set after episode 3.2 and spoilers for 2.20, 21, 22 and 3.1, 2.
1. 1: The Madness of Dean Winchester

**Summary: All his usual coping techniques aren't working so Dean finds and goes on a hunt but instead finds himself a new crutch. Set after episode 3.2 and spoilers for 2.20,21,22 and 3.1,2.**

**Disclaimer:** I own jack squat but a dream in my heart.

**A/N: Much thanks to DeansBabyBird for beta services and for being my bridge over troubled wordage. You rock!**

**Wishful Dreaming**

Chapter 1: The Madness of Dean Winchester

I lean against the headboard of the bed listening, in appreciation, to the slow, steady rhythm of Sam breathing in the bed next to mine. I take a long pull from the bottle of whiskey in my hand ( beer just won't cut it tonight) hoping to erase the memories that seem to be literally branded across the surface of my brain. Drinking, it seems, is an exercise in futility as images play on a loop, like some demented rerun, before my eyes in the darkness of the dank motel room.

_Sam, so close yet so far away, stabbed in the back by that cowardly asshole, Jake._

_Sam falling, in agony, to his knees in the mud._

_Clutching his rag doll body to me in horror. _

_My hand, bloodied from the wound in his back as I assure him it's not that bad, we can patch him up good as new. That I'd take care of him because it's my job._

_My job..._

_The light in his eyes dimming slowly like a candle with no oxygen to maintain the flame._

My head jolts back against the headboard as I physically try to retreat from the image flooding my vision. Try to avoid the inevitable conclusion.

_Sam..._

_Dead._

In the gloom of that motel room I shudder and shake from this visual assault. Bad enough to live it once but now I'm living the echoes. I stifle a moan hoping I don't wake Sam. He doesn't need to see this. Doesn't need another reason to keep searching for a way out of my deal. Doesn't need to die. Again. Not on my watch.

I lift the whiskey bottle again and chug, determined to drown any coming visuals. I want the burn of the amber liquor to deaden my brain cells, to make it all just go away. Its not working and I press my eyes tightly closed hoping to quell the images that way but instead am hit with another barrage of clips. Picture _and _sound this time.

_Sam. Lifeless on a filthy mattress in a ramshackle abandoned house._

_Bobby's anguished look as I yell at him (my poor surrogate father). Kick him out because I can't leave Sam's side and I won't burn or bury him._

_Shame and Guilt._

_Nothing left to give because all I have is gone._

"_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please just go." and he does._

_Talking to Sam. "I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe... It was just always my responsibility, you know?"_

_Crying over Sam. "I had one job and I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that I'm sorry. I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love."_

_Yelling to Sam. "What am I supposed to do?!"_

_Leaving Sam. _

_Leaving Sam's hollow body to go make a deal with a demon to fill it up again._

_My soul for one year ("It's a better deal than your dad ever got") and for Sam's life, but..._

_The catch._

_No wriggling out of the deal or Sam is worm food. Again._

_The kiss._

_Tainted, sulfurous._

_The deal is sealed._

_One year._

I'm now sitting on the edge of the bed. My head hung low, I pray to anyone or anything listening for this sick home video of Sam and Dean's most depressing moments to end. Unfortunately for me, there is no remote control, no stop button. I focus again on the lump that is Sam in the next bed. Its not all bad. Sam is still here. Breathing. Walking upright. Alive.

It's enough. It has to be because a life without Sam, my little brother, my best friend, the kid I've raised since infancy is no life for me. If there had been no way to bring him back, no deal to be made, then I would have found a way to follow him.

I drop the whiskey bottle to the bed and clap my hands to my ears as the next incursion, loud and vivid, gushes forth like bile, churning, choking and burning me in its bid for freedom.

_Bobby's stunned expression as Sam and I greet him at his door._

_The hardened and suspicious face he wears as he follows me, with his eyes, into the house while Sam looks on in curious confusion. _

_Bobby's haunted desperation as he confronts me in the junk yard._

"_You made a deal... For Sam, didn't you?" I don't have the courage to look him in the eyes but he already knows._

"_How long did they give you?" I want to be anywhere else, having any other conversation. "How long?!" A demand._

_One year. One year. One year. It is a constant litany that echoes so loud in my head that it takes me a minute to be able to say it out loud._

"_Damn it, Dean!" Despair. Its etched in the lines on his face and I find myself needing to make him understand that we have to find Yellow-eyes and that _I'm_ going to kill him. Exact my revenge on him for ruining my family, ruining our lives. I tell Bobby I've got nothing to lose now, which isn't true. I'm just trying to maintain my brave facade, the one that says, "I'm Dean Winchester! I'm a bad ass mother fucker and I'm not scared of anything, not even hell!"_

_But I am scared._

_I am scared of hell but there is no escape because I'm even more afraid of losing my brother._

_Bobby grabs and shakes me and says he could "throttle" me. He doesn't understand and I need to _make_ him understand._

_He brings up Dad's deal for me and yells that I'm just itching to follow in his foot steps._

"_Dad brought me back, Bobby. I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way something good could come of it. Its like my life can mean something."_

_Anguish. His face is anguish._

"_What? And it didn't before? Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?!"_

_Yes and yes. The end will justify the means, though._

"_I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother." I'm fighting tears._

_Sammy is _my _responsibility. My job is to keep him safe. At all cost, even if that cost is my soul. And it is. Its the only way to fix the fact that I didn't do my job right the first time._

"_How's your brother gonna feel when he knows you're going to hell? How'd you feel when your dad went for you?" Bobby(the man who'd once played ball with me instead of training me like dad wanted) fights tears while I panic inside._

_Sam _cannot _know about the deal._

"_You can't tell him..." I beg with my words, my eyes, with every fiber in me. "Please, don't tell him."_

_He grasps my chin in one calloused hand, his words spent, and I can see in that moment, he's already mourning me._

_Ellen interrupts then and I'm grateful for the reprieve. Grateful she's alive. Once the holy water shot is out of the way, we ask about the bar and her escape. She says it was just dumb luck. The bar had run out of pretzels._

"_A lot of good people died in there and I got to live. Lucky me."_

_Survivors guilt. I know all about it because I go around wearing my guilt like it's a super hero cape. It's part of my modus operandi. That, and causing those I care about nothing but pain._

I've moved from the bed (giving up on trying to be quiet enough not to wake Sam) to carry on the harrowing odyssey of this waking nightmare in the bathroom. Alcohol therapy isn't working, even after three quarters of a bottle, and so I hope to gain some peace from a steaming hot shower. The tepid semi-drizzle I get instead, offers little solace, however, and I debate taking one of the numerous knives from our weapons collection and gouging my eyes out. Perhaps that will kill this bizarre picture show, although I doubt it. The images are so ingrained that I'm sure I'll still see them. That I won't have even the briefest respite from them. Of course not. I moan as a tidal wave of memories slam me and threaten to drag me away to hell early.

_The conflict. The gang's all there. Sam, Bobby, Ellen, me._ _All of us with guns trained on him. Jake._

"_You were dead! I killed you!"_

Shut up, asshole!

"_Yeah? Well next time finish the job." My heart stutters in my chest at the thought._

_Sam looks at me in dawning suspicion after Jake states that he'd severed Sam's spinal cord._

Damn it!

_Sam and Jake verbally spar, then, of course, things go pear-shaped._

_Ellen is forced to put her own gun to her head courtesy of Jake's freaky mind powers while he orders the rest of us to stand down._

_He smiles sadistically and follows it with equally sadistic commentary._

"_Once you give into it, there's all sorts of new Jedi mind tricks you can learn."_

_Jake holds us at bay by holding Ellen._

_He pulls out the Colt, inserts it into the crypt doors and twists._

_Bobby and I move to Ellen and pull the gun away from her head just moments before she's forced to pull the trigger._

_Meanwhile, Sam shoots Jake three times(in the back, which, I believe is what they call poetic justice). Non fatally._

_He raises his hands and pleads with Sam for his life._

_Sam shoots him three more times. Fatally._

_Jake is dead (may he rot in hell) and my brother looks...demented._

_I pull the Colt free and we all run for cover._

_The gate crashes open and all hell breaks loose. Literally._

_I stare at the Colt in my hand. The last time I saw this, my father had it. It's the only weapon that can kill..._

_The Yellow-eyed demon! I _know_ he's here!_

_The gun is suddenly ripped from my hand, I sail through the air and my world explodes in pain._

_Yellow-eyes pins Sam and then he's... thanking me for putting Sammy back into rotation._

_I don't know what he means by that but I do know that I hate him! I loathe him!_

_I'm going to _kill_ him!_

"_... You saw what your brother did to Jake, right? That was pretty cold, wasn't it? How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?"_

_I consider his words while I stare at my baby brother pinned to a tree no more than fifteen feet away. I don't think what he did to Jake was that cold considering that it was Jake who originally stabbed Sam in the back when all he was trying to do was get away. No, Sam is fine. Well..._

_Sam, so close yet so far..._

"_... I knew I kept you alive for some reason, until now anyway. I couldn'ta done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family."_

_I had served my purpose and was about to die by the hands of the same creature who had taken my mother and father. _

_Then... Dad?_

_Dad was there! He wrestled the demon out of his meat suit. Grappled with the demon's smoke form before being thrown free. The demon reentered his stolen body._

_Not fast enough, though, and I had the pleasure of seeing the surprise on his face when he saw the Colt in my hand._

_I didn't hesitate._

_Just calmly pulled the trigger as if my whole life had _not_ been leading to this moment._

_He convulsed as mini explosions, demonic death throes, lit him from within. He collapsed and was still._

_I'd done it! I'd killed that son of a bitch!_

_Then... Dad._

_The comforting weight of his hand on my shoulder, one last time, as he beamed tearfully at me in pride. He smiled at Sam, stepped away and disappeared. I hoped that he was with mom now and that he was happy and at peace._

_I knelt down next to the body that had hosted the Yellow-eyed demon. "That was for our mom, you son of a bitch!"_

_It was a bittersweet victory. Yellow-eyes dead after a lifetime of hunting him. But Sam..._

_He suspects. Too damn smart for his own damn good. He's piecing it together and I'm trying to evade him but where am I going to go?_

"_Sam we just killed the demon! Can we celebrate for a minute?"_

"_Did I die? Did you sell your soul for me like Dad did for you?"_

"_Oh come on! No!" but I can't look in his eyes because... those eyes. They see right through me. Plus, that kicked puppy look he's wearing right now is tearing my heart to tatters. I know now that no matter how hard I try, I'm not going to be able to keep this from him._

"_Tell me the truth. Dean, Tell me. The .Truth."_

"_Sam." I don't want to tell you, please stop asking me. Please!_

"_How long did you get?" his voice cracks and with it my heart. A piece chips away like granite and stabs at my internal organs. I feel cold with dread that I have to tell him this._

"_One year. I got one year."_

"_You shouldn'ta done that. How could you do that?" My heart splinters again, right down its fault line. How could I not do it? How could I not save him when he's the only thing I live for?_

"_Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that. Now I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job!"_

"_And what do you think my job is?" I'm thrown. What?_

"_You save my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this. Guess I gotta save your ass for a change."_

"_Yeah." Oh Sammy, if only you could save me. If only you could._

The salty water of my tears mingles with the fresh (almost cold now) water coming from the shower head and I try to keep my gasping, hiccuping sobs as quiet as possible. Sam needs never know about the relentless war I'm waging with myself because then he'll want to talk about feelings and I just can't do it. I won't. It won't change anything anyway. I find myself suddenly wishing I could just seal off my tear ducts with wax or super glue because I hate crying. It feels like there is no point to it except to make me feel like a girl. Unfortunately, when my emotional cup runneth over it runneth out through my eyes.

I hope that the flashbacks are at an end. If they aren't maybe I could get lucky and flash back to that one super-steamy-girl-on-girl scene from Casa Erotica 3. Who am I kidding, though, I have no luck. I close my eyes in defeat, lean into the cold dribble of water and just let the remembrances continue.

_We never get a break. When the devil's gate opened it spewed out a couple hundred extra evil sons of bitches, not the least of which were the seven deadly sins. Sloth, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, pride and of course my favorite, lust._

_We came, we hunted them, we conquered. Not without loss of our own. Tamara and Issac, a hunting couple that Bobby was friends with decided to confront the demons without really knowing what they were dealing with and Issac ended up drinking a drain cleaner cocktail._

_We exorcised the ones we could and Sam had help from a strange woman with a demon killing knife. In the end we only manage to save two out of the seven. Not great, but better than none._

_Tamara gave Issac a hunters funeral and we burned the bodies of the ones Sam's mystery woman killed. _

_After that, Tamara took her leave of us followed quickly by Bobby. And then there were two._

_Just Sam and me._

_Sam wanted to take me to some hoodoo priestess who Tamara suggested might be able to help get me out of my deal._

"_We're not going and that's that." No, Sammy. Just no. And of course he wants to know why. So I told him._

"_We trap a crossroads demon, trick it, try to welsh our way out of the deal in any way , you die, ok? You die. Those are the terms, there's no way out of it. You try and find a way, so help me God, _I'm_ gonna stop you." I'd be watching him. No way was I going to let him die. No way!_

"_How could you make that deal, Dean?" Sam was hurting and his pain was once again a chisel to my stony heart. Another piece chipped away. Who would I be once my whole heart was pulverized into nothing but dust particles?_

"_Because I couldn't live with you dead. Couldn't do it."_

"_So what? Now I live and you die?" Yes._

"_That's the general idea, yeah." I put on a brave front for Sam but truly I didn't want to die. I wanted to be around, have Sammy's back for many years to come but it just wasn't in the cards for me. I have to find a way to make him accept this although I'm sure it's going to be one hell of a battle._

_He tells me I'm a hypocrite and brings up Dad's deal to make the point. He tells me that I was twisted and broken over it, but I've got news for him, I'm still twisted and broken. I've just managed to shove it down under all the other layers of crap I carry around._

"_What you did was selfish." Selfish? Yes. No argument there. But you're alive and that's all I want._

"_Yeah, you're right. It was selfish, but I'm ok with that." Because you're here in front of me drawing breath and I can't see that as a bad thing. Ever._

"_I'm not."_

"_Tough. After everything I've done for this family I think I'm entitled. Truth is, I'm tired Sam. I don't know, its like there's a light at the end of the tunnel."_

"_That's hellfire, Dean." Probably. Definitely._

"_Whatever. You're alive. I feel good for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Sam. So what do ya say we kill some evil sons-a-bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?" I try to buy what I'm saying and I've almost got myself convinced. Almost but not quite. What else can I do?_

"_You're unbelievable." Sam is disappointed and I wish I could use my big brother brand of mojo to wipe that all away. And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. There is nothing I can do. Not about my deal, anyway._

"_Very true." I've won the battle maybe, but not the war._

My skin is nearly blue from the cold water and I turn off the faucet. There can't be much more, can there? I wish I had a wire brush and a flip top head so that I could physically scrape away the seared on memories of the past several weeks from my brain but I settle for toweling myself dry and waiting for the next onslaught. So far, nothing.

I dress myself and wait patiently for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn't, I breathe a tentative sigh of relief. Tentative because it could always start over. I look at myself in the mirror, pale, drawn, shaking, terrified. NO! It needs to be over! I can't stand _anymore_! I don't want to die, but if this is all I have to look forward to for the next year, then I don't want to live anymore either. I'd take a nice coma to this relentless psychological torture any day.

I'm tired and wilted and I just want to sleep for a few hours. A deep dreamless sleep where I can escape the fact that in eleven months I'll be hell's newest resident on the block.

I exit the bathroom and pad stealthily to my bed. Sam is, blessedly, still asleep (at least I'd done that right). I note the stack of quarters on the night stand that I'd brought to feed the magic fingers and hope that it will do the trick and put me to sleep.

I feed the quarters, one by one, into the slot hoping that the noise isn't as loud as the cacophony in my head has been tonight. I need for this to work, desperately. All my other vices and coping techniques have failed me. Hard liquor, a hot (well, tepid) shower, even crying had been in vain. If this didn't work then I'd be left with no alternative but to surf porn. If I was going to have to be awake all night then at least I could try and distract myself with naked women. I would only use it as a last resort, though.

The magic fingers come on and I stretch out supine, throw my arm over my tired, burning eyes and try to drift. Reality, that cranky old bitch, has other ideas.

_I beg Sam to go check out a case in Cicero, Indiana. He checks out the paper I hand him and remarks that, while it's weird, I must have some ulterior motive for wanting to go there._

_I do. The possibility of seeing the lovely, bendy, Lisa Braeden, with whom I'd spent an awesome several days with eight and a half years ago,is that motive. I beg some more, this time playing the dying wish card. He gives in gracefully, like the awesome little brother he is._

_I drop him at the local motel and seek her out. She opens the door and she's just as beautiful, if not more so, as I remember. I invite myself in (she's throwing a party) and discover that the party is for her... Son? Gumby girl went and had a kid? This changes things._

_She tells me its his eighth birthday and when I lay eyes on the kid for the first time I'm shocked. He looks like Lisa but he acts like me! I do the math which sends me scrambling to find out the truth._

_I could have a son? Wow! _

_I find her and ask her. She denies it and then I'm distracted by the case. I call Sam and tell him to start checking out the other victims I'd discovered while talking to Lisa._

_I'm on my way to meet Sam when I run into Ben who is all alone on a park bench and upset because some bully has stolen his video game. I offer to get it back for him but he stops me._

"_Only bitches send a grown up!" Spoken like a true Winchester.. only he isn't a Winchester. Still, I'm impressed by this kid._

"_You're not wrong." I agree with him._

"_And I'm not a bitch." I can't physically help him but I can offer him advice on how to get his game back. I send him off and offer him gestures of encouragement when he looks back at me nervously. He confronts the kid and asks politely for his game back (just like I'd told him to). The bully turns to him and gets in his face. Ben turns like he was going to come back my way and the bully laughs. Not for long, however, as Ben pivots back toward him, lightening quick, and knees him (twice) in the crotch._

_He comes back over to me, game in hand, and proudly high-fives me! Once again this kid has made me proud. Watching him defend himself was like watching poetry in motion. _

_Our little victory is short lived as Lisa scolds Ben and then scolds me for telling him how to take care of himself. She pulls me to the side and tells me off. I try to reason with her but she tells me to leave them alone._

_I watch them walk away from me and am surprised at how much what she said hurts, when Ben breaks away from his mother and rushes back over to me. He then throws his arms around my waist, looks up and thanks me. I'm humbled and pleased by this and find myself truly wishing that he _was_ my son._

_As I watch them leave I note three kids standing off to the side watching them too. They slowly turn to face me and I'm spooked by the lack of emotion on their faces. _

_Back at the hotel I tell Sam that I think there's something wrong with the kids of this town. He tells me that I'm right, that we're dealing with changelings. He explains everything that he's found in the lore._

_The most important points that I take from all that research is that changelings can only be killed by fire. The real children are hidden away and any kid is susceptible._

_Ben. Lisa. Crap!_

_I make Sam go with me to Lisa's before we try to find the other kids but I'm too late. They already have Ben. I search the outside of the house and discover the same red markings that Sam first thought was blood. It turns out to be red dirt and now I know where to look._

_We get to the unfinished house that has a pile of that same red dirt in front of it, split up and search for the kids. I find them caged in the basement and begin freeing them. Ben, who was the first one I released, helps me with the other children and when I have to break a window, he offers up his own jacket to cover the broken glass. As we're helping the kids out of the window. Sam rushes in and tells me about a mother changeling. Sam releases the last prisoner and Ben and I have almost all the kids out, when "mother" attacks._

_Sam and I battle and torch her while Ben helps the other kids out. Once again, he impressed me. He was brave and resourceful and I was just damn proud of him._

_We get him home to a terrified Lisa who hugs him and cries in relief._

"_What the hell just happened?"_

"_I'll explain everything if you want me to, but, trust me, you probably don't. The important thing is that Ben's safe." I can't resist tousling his hair._

"_Thank you. Thank you." Lisa is suddenly in my arms and it feels like that is where she belongs. I glance back at Sam and, observant kid that he is, he leaves us alone to talk._

_Inside the house, I _explain_ things to Lisa. I'm not sure how much she understands but I tell her anyway because she asked._

"_You know how I never mentioned my job? This is my job."_

"_I so didn't want to know that. Do you think he'll be ok?" She's watching Ben for signs of a meltdown._

"_Yeah. I think he'll be fine." I stare at Ben for a moment and then ask that burning question again. The one I'm secretly wanting a different answer to._

"_Ok. Seriously. I mean , you're 100% sure that he is not mine, right?" Lisa giggles, unaware of just how serious I am._

"_You're off the hook. I did a blood test when he was a baby."_

"_Oh." That one word summed it all up for me in one neat tidy package of disappointment._

_She tells me about the guy (a bar back at a biker bar) and when I looked at her in surprise she defended herself by saying she'd had a type._

"_Guess I was pretty wild back then... Before I became a mom." I watch her watch Ben and I realize that I want this. A family to come home to after a long days work at a regular nine to five gig. Just like in that djinn induced lala land I'd been in before my whole world came crashing to a stop. Sam dead._

_Demon deal. Sam resurrected. One year left._

"_So yeah. You can relax."_

"_Good." but I don't mean it. I feel no relief. I'd give my soul... Wait. Already done that._

"_I swear you look disappointed." That doesn't even begin to touch the tip of the iceburg of what I'm truly feeling._

"_Yeah. I don't know. It's weird, you know. Your life. I mean, this house and the kid. Its not my life... Never will be." Never can be. One year. One year. One year._

"_Some stuff happened to me recently, and , uh... Anyway, a guy in my situation, you start to think, you know. I'm gonna be gone one day, and what am I leaving behind besides a car?"_

"_I don't know. Ben may not be your kid, but he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. That's a lot if you ask me." I'm thankful that I can leave her with a good impression and I turn to go but something stops me and I turn back to her._

"_You know, just for the record, you got a great kid. I would have been proud to be his dad." She closes the distance I'd put between us and kisses me. It's warm and sweet and tastes of everything I want but can never have. I do want it,and badly. I want to stay, but this isn't a djinn dream. This is real life and I can't stab myself awake to get out of it. I only have my willpower and she's ripping it to shreds right now._

"_Look if you... If you want to stick around for awhile... You're welcome to stay." I suddenly hear my mother, the one from the djinn dream, whispering in my ear, 'It's everything you want', and I can't deny to myself that she's right. Here. This moment. This is all I want. This beautiful woman and her son, who isn't mine but who I'd love as though he were my own. I want them so badly that I can _almost_ feel them in my arms._

"_I can't." The rosy bubble that had been harboring this thought, popped instantly. "I got a lot of work to do and it's not my life." One more glance at her as I walk through her door. I have to leave because what else is there to say, but its one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Selling my soul to save Sam? Easy, because he's alive now. Killing the Yellow-eyed demon? Cake walk. Walking away from Lisa and Ben? Near to impossible but what do I have to offer them now? Even if I quit hunting. If I let Sam go or if I convinced him to settle down right here with me in Cicero, Indiana to be close to them, I'd be dead in one year. Ripped to shreds in front of them._

_No. I won't do that to them. I do the only thing I _can_ do. I leave them to their normal lives and convince myself that it's better this way. _

**A/N 2: This chapter was quite lengthy due to all the flashbacks. The next chapters might not be so long and will actually deal with original material so bear with me because I promise this is going somewhere. Also thanks for taking the time to read and feel free to review.**


	2. 2: Hunting For a Distraction

**Disclaimer:** Nope, nada, zip zilch!

**A/N: **To my loyal fans/reviewers three, WinchesterBabe1999, DeansBabyBird and LilyBolt, thank you ever-so-much! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

And to DeansBabyBird, thanks for the beta and for just being you!

Chapter 2: Hunting For a Distraction

I jolt upright, gasping. Regret is a oppressive weight on my chest, longing a tug on my heart and misery the ache in my gritty eyes. The voice of my "other" mom, the djinn induced mother, suddenly echoes in my head.

"_No more pain, no more fear. Just love and comfort and safety. It's everything you want."_

And everything I can't have! Sam, alive and well without having to sacrifice my soul. My mother. A life with Lisa and Ben.

Enough!

I can tell that there will be no rest for me tonight. When I let my brain idle in neutral, the flashback shit storm happens and I just can't take anymore right now. I desperately need a distraction. I sigh quietly and sluggishly move to the rickety table where Sam's laptop is charging. Time for plan E: Porn. If _that_ doesn't work... Plan F: Find some ass hat worth ganking.

I stare blankly at the screen of the computer and I ponder the dream land that the djinn tried to consign me to.

I miss my mom. Not just the one I remember from my childhood but also the replica of her too. What was it she said before I'd ganked myself outta that dream world?

Oh. Yeah.

"_It's still better than anything you had."_

Which has turned out to be true. Besides Sam, I don't have anything to look forward to here. Just the impending fires of hell.

In the dream world, mom was alive. Jess had never been killed by Yellow-eyes (there had never even been a Yellow-eyed demon), Sam was still going to be a lawyer and I had a hot, hot girlfriend. Carmen was respectable and a nurse and she really got me.

Granted, in the djinn universe, Dad was dead of a regular run-of-the-mill stroke and me and Sammy weren't close. I'd momentarily contemplated staying (and dying) in that world for the sole reason of fixing _that_ relationship. The fact that he was an illusion, that that whole world was an illusion, brought me back to reality, to _my _Sam.

I shudder, wondering what would have happened out here in the real world if I'd stayed in my dream world. I'd be dead right now, for certain, and where would that have left Sammy? Would he have still died at Cold Oak? Would my death have motivated him more to fight Jake and survive or would he have just welcomed death? Would we both be in Heaven right now with our mom and, hopefully, our dad?

If Sam had fought Jake and won, would he have opened the gates of hell for Yellow-eyes or would he just have used the Colt to send that douchebag packing? I hope he would have just shot him dead but if old Yellow-eyes had offered to bring me back, would Sam have jumped at the chance or would he have killed him anyway? I already knew what I would have done if our roles were reversed. It's why I only had one year left to live now.

Jesus! I've got to stop this line of thinking right now. It's just way too heavy. The what ifs could run on infinitely and I just don't have the time or desire to analyze it anymore.

My eyes focus on the computer screen before me and I remember why I'm sitting here in the first place. Distraction. My last resort.

I log onto the Busty Asian Beauties web site and it opens in all its semi-naked-Asian-chicks glory and is then promptly covered by several annoying pop-ups. It's aggravating because I thought Sam had disabled all the pop-up bullshit (plus it was cutting into my B.A.B me time). Guess I was wrong.

I systematically begin closing them down when the phrase "supernatural desires" splashes across one of the boxes and catches my attention. I debate the wisdom of clicking on it, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, it could be a virus, possibly one of a supernatural origin, and Sam would pitch a major bitch fit if I gave his computer another virus. On the other hand, it could be a case. I figure it's worth the risk and click on it.

My jaw drops in amazement as I stare at the electronic flyer.

It's laid out like a "classy" ad for a call girl only for people with a taste for, and I have to read the line again, a "supernatural lifestyle".I have to be honest with myself, the advertisement _is _understated and if it hadn't been for the blatant promotion of what was being offered, I would have overlooked it completely.

This was looking to be too good to be true. A hunt presenting itself on a platter? To me? It was more than likely a trap or possibly just an elaborate set up by regular people to dupe other, more ignorant people looking for a good time. But if it's not...

I need to do a bit of research and I don't want to involve Sam. I'm not sure why I don't want Sammy in on this but something deep inside tells me that I need to take care of this by myself.

I read the advertisement again.

_Come to Madam Hecate's Salon: Purveyor of Supernatural Entertainment_

_ Are you lonely? Do you have an unusual fetish?_

_ Dabble in the occult?_

_ Crave a taste of a supernatural lifestyle?_

_ Come to Madam Hecate's where our highly trained technicians will endeavor _

_ to cater to whatever your unique little heart desires at minimal cost to you._

_**Packages:**__ A list of packages is provided in person at Madam Hecate's_

**_Amenities:_**

_Friendly (or not so friendly, depending on your tastes), highly-trained, professional staff._

_No maiming, no killing. Safety guaranteed._

_100% legal._

_Pick your fantasy and we'll bring it to life. No job too small._

_Discretion and anonymity are provided._

_**Parties:**_

_ Plan your event with us.* **_

_ Bring your significant other.* **_

_ Bachelor/ bachelorette parties.* **_

_ *All new clients must be approved by Madam Hecate._

_ **All parties must sign a nondisclosure agreement._

_**Testimonials:**_

_ Madam Hecate's Salon allows me to be the me I've always wanted to be and yet go home to_

_ my wife and children and not have to worry about getting caught. I get the best of both _

_ worlds!_

Rating:_ *****/ Anonymous- John_

_ I came to Madam Hecate's Salon seeking the kind of encounter I could not find any place_

_ else. Thank you, Madam Hecate, for helping me to realize my desires._

Rating: _*****/ Anonymous- Jane_

_**Fine print:**_

_ -By appointment only. All interviews conducted confidentially by Madam Hecate herself_

_ to ensure complete compatibility and satisfaction._

_ -Cost may vary by scenario._

_ -Payment due at time of service. Cash or money order only._

_ Call anytime day or night. Operators standing by 24 hours a day, 7 days a week._

At the very bottom of the ad are two numbers. One dedicated to new customers and the other for repeat customers.

I couldn't help but be amused and yet slightly irked at the testimonials. The John was duping his family but was totally alright with that while the Jane... Never mind. I don't even want to speculate what she's into. I shake my head. Monsters I get, people though, are just fucked!

I lean back in my chair with a sense of anticipation. This would be perfect. Just what I need to clear my head of my own bullshit, a challenging hunt.

I glance over at Sam's bed. He's still sleeping soundly. Come to think of it, he seems to be sleeping a lot better since we'd put the Yellow-eyed demon out of commission and I'm nothing but grateful. Still, I don't want him knowing about this hunt so I'm going to have to sneak off to make this phone call.

I look back to the computer screen and write down all of the pertinent information, including the name Madam Hecate. I swear I've seen it before and I figure if I'm going to do this right then I need to know who I'm dealing with.

I close the site and clear out the history. No need to leave any bread crumbs behind for Sam to follow. I contemplate pulling up the Busty Asian Beauties site again but change my mind immediately. Porn can wait, I have a mission.

I stealthily creep out of our motel room and sit on Baby's hood. I'm not willing to wake Sam up with this little conversation.

I pull out the paper that has all the information on it and debate on whether to call or not. Especially since deciding that I'm going without backup.

"Screw it. I'm doing this!" Decision made, I dial the new clients number. It rings twice before a sultry, automated voice answers.

"Hello and thank you for calling Madam Hecate's Salon. If you would like to schedule a compatibility interview press 1. For prices and billing questions press 2. For general questions press 3. If you have dialed the wrong number, please hang up and try your call again."

After hearing that last prompt, I wonder if anyone has dialed this number by mistake and just went for it. I shrug my shoulders and press 1. The phone rings again. This time a tinny automated voice comes across the line.

"All operators are currently busy but please stay on the line. Your fantasies, desires, and wishes are very important to us."

"Yeah, I'll bet." I snort to myself but I hold the line. Two minutes later I'm rewarded for my patience as yet another automated voice comes through the receiver.

"This call will be monitored for quality assurance. Please have your alias ready."

Uhhh... Alias? Shit. Ok. Page. Mr. Page. Always stick with the rock aliases.

"Madam Hecate's Salon. My name is Adriana. How my I help you?" answers a chipper voice.

"Uh, yes. I wanted to make an appointment to see Madam Hecate."

"Compatibility consult, Mr.?"

"Page and yes."

"When would you like to be scheduled, Mr. Page?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?" Please have an appointment, I think to myself. I want to get this started before Sam finds us a new hunt.

"Let me check, sir." I hear the clack of computer keys in the background. "You're in luck! I have an opening at ten a.m! May I put you down for that appointment?"

"That would be perfect!" I mimic her in bemusement.

"Wonderful! Now be sure to bring two-hundred dollars, either cash or money order, for the consultation fee. Due to our stringent anonymity policy we do not accept checks or credit cards."

Oh. I hadn't thought of that. I quickly calculated how much cash Sam and I had between us and realized that it was only a little over four-hundred dollars. I guess when I get back home tomorrow I'll be doing some hustling, be it pool or a poker game, to replenish our funds.

"Sir, are you there? I can arrange the consult for a later date if you need me to."

"No, it's fine. No problem."

"Wonderful! Now then, Mr. Page, just a few small matters to attend to. We have your phone number on file now, is this a means of communication you'd be comfortable using for our correspondence or should we use an alternate method?" she asks pleasantly.

Wow! Yet another thing I hadn't thought of. This is why Sam always does the research and I'm just the grunt on the front lines.

"Alternate communication, please." I answer her.

"Lovely. Is e-mail safe for you sir?"

I hesitate but I know its the only other option available to me. "Yes it is."

"Thank you, sir. May I have the address now, please?" she prompts.

"It's capital b, nineteen, capital a, sixty-seven, capital b at lottamail dot com." She repeats it back correctly to me.

"Now what is your favorite food?" she queries.

"Uh, pie, but what's that got to do with any of this?"

That chipper little voice says, "When we send you the e-mail it will be disguised under the heading, 'Hec's Pie of the Month Club'_."_ and though she doesn't say it aloud , I can swear she's tacked on _you big silly head _at the end of that sentence.

"Awesome." I snark, "What will this e-mail actually contain?" I'm curious and a little amazed at how well thought out this all is. It feels a little cloak and dagger but I'm not complaining.

"The address to Madam Hecate's, what to bring with you, code of conduct. Basically, everything you need to know until you get here."

"Wow, you all really got this down pat." Good thing for me they're thorough.

"Yes sir. We take the anonymity and satisfaction of our customers very seriously. Now, can I help you with anything else tonight?"

I can't help but chuckle at her perky tone, "Not that I can think of."

"Very well, sir. Your e-mail has been sent and you should be receiving it any moment now. Your appointment is scheduled for ten a.m. tomorrow morning. Please do not forget to bring the two-hundred dollars for the consultation fee and make sure you read over that e-mail thoroughly. Have a nice evening, Mr. Page."

"You too, Adrianna." I reply and end the call.

I lean back against Baby's hood as I feel the turmoil of the day catch up to me. I'm so tired I can feel it in my bones and I want nothing more than to go crawl into bed and sleep. First, I've got to check my e-mail and research Madam Hecate.

I slip back into the room and seat myself back in front of Sam's laptop. First, I open my e-mail and sure enough the chipper and efficient Adrianna was correct as I see the heading 'Hec's Pie of the Month Club'. I open it and am surprised at how little info there is. I start reading, knowing I need to be prepared so I don't go in there blind tomorrow.

As Adrianna had said, the first part gives the address, 812 on the corner of Maple Street and Vine Avenue in middle of nowhere Kentucky (Great, on a crossroad. Just what I need!). I open a new tab and look up directions to the house from our motel and discover that it will only take about two hours to get to my destination, an hour and a half if I drive really fast. I write down the directions and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans.

The next item on the e-mail is a list of things to bring with me. It's very short and just says to bring the money for the consultation fee and to make sure that it's either cash or money order. Simple enough.

The last part is the lengthiest portion of the e-mail. The code of conduct. I glance through it and balk a bit when I get to the part about weapons. I read the list: No knives, guns, machetes, salt, holy water, iron, silver, lamb's blood or dead man's blood. That means that there will be demons, ghosts, vampires, possibly a djinn and a shifter present.

Great! Why am I doing this again? Oh right, because I'm an idiot. Well, this is only going to be a reconnaissance mission then. With my identity hidden I can scope out the place and decide whether or not to get Sam involved. I really hope it doesn't come to that. I need this hunt to be mine alone.

The last thing listed on the e-mail is a sentence I have to say to gain admittance to Madam Hecate's inner sanctum. Cut and dried. I feel stupid just reading the line in my head and I wonder if the whole point is to make the client feel just a little bit stupid upon arrival. Oh well, I just have to suck it up if I want to get the job done. Plus, I'd done plenty of stupid things for a case before and this little sentence could be just the thing I need to blow this operation wide open.

I delete the e-mail and open a new tab and look up Madam Hecate. When that doesn't yield results I look up just the name Hecate and find out that she's a Greek deity who was associated with crossroads (go figure), fire, the moon, magic, witchcraft, herbs and poisonous plants. She is also said to grant blessings on sailors and hunters. If that's the case then she's just going to love me! Probably not since she's a witch too, damn my luck. She just had to be be a witch and I hate witches! I shudder when I realize that I have to have a meet and greet with her tomorrow. I'll just have to try not to give her any reason to hex me.

I sigh, clear out the history once again and shut the laptop. I need to get a little sleep if I'm going to be worth a damn at all tomorrow and I need to figure out what to tell Sam in the morning to explain my absence. I'll probably go with the path of least resistance and tell him I'm going to do a supply run. We _could_ use a few things... Suddenly, I remember the emergency money I always keep in the trunk of the Impala under our arsenal of knives. It's only a hundred dollars or so but it'll do.

I step outside really quickly to double check that I haven't already used the money and find it all there. Good, one last thing to have to worry Sam about. I go back inside and set the alarm on my phone. I lay down on the musty bed, too tired to get out of my clothes and fall to sleep almost immediately.

* * *

My alarm goes off and I want to hit snooze badly but don't because I have a big day ahead of me.

Sam is already up, morning person that he is, and at the laptop. He glances up at me, then quickly away and closes the computer.

"Hey. You hungry?" I look at him oddly because when am I not hungry in the mornings?

"Yeah. What's goin' on Sammy? You're acting all cagey."

"Nothing, Dean. I was just going to get us some breakfast. What do you want?" I just stare at him, waiting because I know this is about my deal.

"Sam? I know you're looking for a way out of my deal. We've already discussed this..."

"No! You've already discussed this. What about me? I should have a say."

"Not how it works, kiddo. Do you not remember the part about you dying if I get out of this?" I say the words softly because I don't want to say them at all. His head hangs low and his hair covers his face from my view. When he looks up his lips are pressed together and I can tell that he's trying to bite his tongue and not say anything but I can also tell from the look in his eyes that he's determined to still look no matter what I say. That he's going to keep trying to get me out of this no matter what. I sigh and feel like it comes all the way up from the soles of my feet.

"Do you mind if we stay here again tonight? I've got to make a supply run and it would just be easier. Plus there's a hot waitress over at the diner that I've been flirting with." He gives me his patented bitch face and I just smirk but he relents and I get a quick glimpse of that determined expression again. I know once I leave that he's going to be all about researching a way out of my deal. I'll just have to straighten him out when I get back.

"Fine, Dean. I'll look for a case while you're gone." Sure, and I'll grow wings and fly like a bird but I just nod.

"I'm going to go and get breakfast. I'll be back in a few."

"I was gonna do that."

"Don't worry about it, Sammy." In fact don't worry about my deal, just worry about yourself.

I'm gone maybe fifteen minutes and when I come back, we quickly eat our donuts and down our coffees. I check the time and realize I need to get going.

"I'm heading out. Is there anything you need while I'm gone?" He thinks for a minute then shakes his head no.

"Not that I can think of."

"Alright, well I'll be gone for a few hours so if you need anything just call."

"I think I'll be alright on my own for a few hours, Dean." He snarks and I worry that he's going to do something stupid, that I'm on my way to go do something stupid.

"Fine. I'll call you when I'm on my way back, Bitch!" His lips twitch up into a minute smile.

"Whatever you say, Jerk." I smile as I pull the door closed.


	3. 3: Meet the Hostess

**A/N: Special thanks to LilyBolt and WinchesterBabe1999 for their support and to DeansBabyBird for beta services and all around awesomeness! **

**A/N 2: Please read and review so that I know I should continue with this story. Also, sorry for any grammatical errors in the last chapter. I don't think it was my finest work.**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim because I must! **

Chapter 3: Meet the Hostess

I let Baby idle in front of the dilapidated old plantation house that sits on one corner of a crossroad in the butt crack of nowhere. The street signs which, oddly, look relatively new, verify that this is the right address. They read Maple Street and Vine Avenue. Yep, this broken down place is my destination. I can even make out the house numbers, 8-1-2, although the eight has come loose from one of its nails and now hangs upside down.

I turn off the engine and study the house deciding whether or not I want to go in. The wreck before me has seen better days, I'm sure, but now it's so rundown that half of the shutters have fallen off and litter the ground around the foundation like giant misshapen confetti. The ones left, are hanging crookedly as if by a thread. The old clapboard siding was probably once white but now it's an uninviting, dingy gray. The full upper and lower porches, I note, are sad, sagging things that the elements have taken liberties with and the rest of the house seems to be suffocating under a thick curtain of climbing ivy. Even the brick walkway leading up to the house is overgrown with weeds and missing the odd brick here and there.

_This_ is a supernatural den of iniquity? Looks more like a flop house to me and I can only imagine what kind of humans frequent this place (I don't count, I'm a hunter on a job). I decide that since I'm already here I may as well check it out. I exit my car, check to make sure I have my wallet with the two-hundred dollars for the consult and stuff my gun into the waist band of my jeans, covering it from view with my jacket. The e-mail I was sent said no weapons but I wasn't about to get caught with my pants around my ankles. I lock up my Baby and step cautiously up the broken brick sidewalk. A bird hidden in the trees calls out, an aggressive rasping sound, as if warning me away from my objective.

Up close, the porch is much worse than it looks from the street and I gingerly pick my way across what I think is the safest route. I pull the screen door open carefully since it's, literally, on it's last hinge and knock on the very solid oak door.

It swings open without so much as a squeak and a young, curvy woman with brunette hair piled high into a bun and wearing black horn-rimmed glasses (Hello, Madam Librarian!) greets me.

"Hello. How can I help you today?" she asks in a velvety voice.

Time for the Winchester charm. I lean rakishly against the door frame with my devil-may-care smile on my face.

"Yes, I have a ten o' clock appointment."

"What is this in regards to, sir?" she is unfazed, unimpressed. Professional.

Oh well, can't win 'em all. I dial back the charm a few notches because, chances are, she's some supernatural bad ass that I don't want to get involved with anyway.

"I'm here for the first annual 'Hec's Pie of the Month Club Eat Off. I'm Mr. Page." I feel stupid for the words that I just uttered (although a pie eating contest would be awesome!) but the e-mail said this sentence would be the key to my entrance.

She nods and steps aside to let me in. "Mr. Page, we've been expecting you." I mentally cringe at her words because in my experience, when someone says they're expecting you it's right before the hammer falls. Usually on my head.

I cross the thresh hold into the house, senses taut, and notice that the hot librarian chick is staring at me intently. I turn away from her, uncomfortable with her scrutiny, and examine my surroundings. I'm surprised to find that the inside of the house is in _much_ better condition. It's tastefully decorated with glossy, dark stained wood floors and pale, lemon colored walls hung with several framed warding symbols- for what I'm not sure since all the monsters were already _in _the house- and what could only be a tapestry.

"Excuse me? What is the tapestry supposed to represent?" She follows the direction of my gaze.

"That is Zeus honoring Hecate with a portion of the Earth and the sea for her to rule. He thought very highly of her especially because she stood by the Olympians in their fight against the Titans."

"Oh." I reply simply. Awesome, not only was I meeting with a very powerful witch but there was a possibility that she was _the_ aeons old Greek deity (and here I was hoping Hecate was just a stage name). Winchesters never catch a break, I muse and sigh audibly.

"This way, please." The librarian turns into a door on the left of the foyer and we enter a large parlor. It too, is sumptuously appointed in pale wood paneling- not that faux shit that Sam and I have run across in a few of the throwback motels we've stayed in- plush, burgundy colored carpet and an eclectic mix of couches, chairs, and tables that accent the room.

"Please, help yourself to some refreshments while I inform the hostess of your arrival."

"Thank you." She exits the room and I do a cursory check of my surroundings (hunting fundamentals 101) and note that there is nothing to be worried about just yet.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I only had coffee and a couple of donuts for breakfast, so I make my way over to the proffered refreshments. I peruse the plates of hors d' oeuvres and tiny sandwiches the buffet has to offer, fill a plate and pour myself another coffee. Sitting on a sturdy chair- some have matchsticks for legs and I know I'll break them with my weight- I sniff at the food trying to ascertain whether or not its been poisoned or tampered with. Nothing seems off so I dig into the finger foods while familiarizing myself with the room. On the wall opposite me, I note that it is covered top to bottom with hanging racks of pamphlets like the ones you see at roadside rest stops.

After finishing the food on my plate and draining my coffee cup, I leave the dirty dishes in my now vacated chair and traverse the room to those racks. I pull one of the forms from its holder and it reads, "Possession: It's nine tenths of the law." I hastily put it back knowing that I would _never_ willingly entertain the idea of letting myself be possessed by a demon and pull another form from the rack. "Create Your Own Tulpa!" it exclaims. I shake my head in disbelief sliding it back into its proper space and pull several more. "Curses, and Hexes, and Potions! Oh My!" and "My Own Private Twilight", are among the titles. Witches and vampires. You really can pick your poison here, although I have to wonder if the Madam tells her prospective vampire clients that, under no circumstances, do the vampires sparkle.

"Ahhh, Mr. Page. Perusing our menu, I see." I jump, almost imperceptibly, and stuff the pamphlets back into their slots.

Menu? Yet another alarming word, one that usually ends with something large and toothy trying to eat me. I sigh inwardly, turn to greet the hostess and am stunned speechless at the regal woman standing across the room from me.

She smiles minutely at my slack-jawed stare and glides into the room, closing the doors behind her. She's wearing one of those Greek flowy toga dresses and the ivory color of it compliments her olive hued skin. Her black hair is pulled away from her face in a sort of pony tail, the curls framing her head and face perfectly. It's her eyes that really grab my attention, though. The irises are such a pale blue that they look nonexistent, giving her an ethereal look. She takes a seat and watches me gape at her.

"So, Mr. Winchester. What can Madam Hecate's Salon do for you today?"

"Uh, not sure. What do you... Wait a minute! I'm Mr. Page." I stutter. Fuck! I'm in trouble if my cover is already blown and I glance around for the quickest escape route.

"Please, Mr. Winchester." She holds up a hand to stave off my next attempt at denial. "Let's, I believe the colloquialism is, cut the crap. I know who you are and I know what you do, so let's not lie to each other, hmmm? I am your hostess, Madam Hecate. You, are Dean Winchester, hunter, monster slayer and currently on an eleven month waiting list for your one way ticket to hell. You sold your soul to a crossroads demon to resurrect your younger brother from the grave, I believe." My teeth grind together as my jaw clenches. I need to think fast to get myself out of this situation. Cue the Winchester bravado.

"Yeah, well, you're a witch! Tell me why I shouldn't just gank your ass right here and now?" Perfect. Poke the lethal beast with a stick, I think scathingly at myself but I stand my ground.

She tilts her head and tsks at me. "That would be _extremely_ unwise, Mr. Winchester. Do you think that I have no protection in place for clients who get a little too overzealous? Besides, if you 'gank' me, you will not get your money's worth. Now, would you like to have our scheduled consultation or shall I have you removed from the premises?"

I peer at her trying to read her, find her tells, but she's unflappable.

No one is more surprised than I am when I tell her, "Ok. Monster match me." She quirks an eyebrow at me and starts to speak when I hold up my hand.

"I want some answers first, though."

Her eyebrows knit together in a frown but she nods. "Ask."

"How do you know my name, my real name? I thought your business was _all about _anonymity."

"This is a fair question." she concedes, " I know _all_ of my clients true names and identities. No. Do not interrupt me. _I_ am the only one privy to this knowledge so do not fret about your anonymity. To all and sundry, you will simply be known as Mr. Page. To answer your next question," she gives me a knowing look although I haven't asked another question, "you are known to me through the supernatural grapevine, as it were."

"There's a supernatural grapevine?" I ask skeptically.

"Of course. Is there not a 'grapevine' that hunters use?"

"We call it the telephone, lady." I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Ah. A glimpse of Winchester wit. Lucky me." Hecate shoots back sardonically. "Are your questions at an end sir, or do you seek more answers?"

"How do you know about my deal?" I inquire quietly and she glances at me in pity.

"Unfortunately, Dean Winchester, many supernatural entities despise you and when word of your deal got out, it traveled like wild fire. I knew of it within 24 hours after you made it. Even if I had not heard of it, I would have known. Selling your soul leaves a mark that certain preternatural beings can see. It is as if you've been tattooed."

"Just as long as it's not 666 across my forehead." I quip but it falls flat and she just stares at me sadly.

Damn! Now all those sons of bitches I hunt would be gunning for me even harder than before, each jockeying to send me downstairs ahead of schedule. I debate cutting my losses and just getting the hell out of there but I can't seem to make myself go.

"One more question and then we can get on with this match making thing." she nods her acquiescence, "How did _I_ get an invitation to this place? That pop-up was an invitation, right? I'm sure the fact that I'm a hunter makes me an unusual client, so, how'd you do it?"

"I employ several different types of talent in my business, Mr. Winchester. Psychics, empaths and the like. _You _were found by a scout, of sorts. This employee felt your psychic pain, notified me with coordinates and I had one of my computer hackers plant my advertisement in with a bunch of other pop-ups. Do not worry, no harm was done. In fact, other than that e-mail, which you should have erased, it is like nothing was ever sent to you and there will be no record of it at all on your computer. The e-mail, too, is self-erasing after 24 hours. We take the..."

"I know. You take the anonymity of your clients very seriously. It's good to know." She sighs in exasperation at my sarcasm.

"Are you ready to begin the consult _now_, Mr. Winchester?" she asks, rises from her seat and moves to the Wall o' Gankables brochures.

"Yes." She plucks only one pamphlet from the wall and places it face down on the table in front of me. I reach out to turn it over but she stops me.

"A moment if you please. Let me preface this process by telling you that I have researched you a little and know a bit about your unfortunate history." I stiffen in my seat but say nothing and she continues.

"I can say with some confidence that I know what you desire, Dean Winchester." Whatever I had been expecting her to say it wasn't this and my eyes widen as I come out of emotional lock down.

"Uh, look lady, you're hot and all but..." She angrily cuts me off.

"Oh do not be ridiculous, you silly man-child! You could not possibly keep up with me!" She lurches to her feet in agitation, crosses to the buffet and pours herself a cup of tea while I just gawk.

Silly man-child? Couldn't keep up with _her_? I'm affronted by her slur on my masculinity. I had _never_ had any complaints in that department before. I could probably even show _her_ a thing or two!

"Beverage?" she barks from the buffet. I decide to work the Winchester charm on her, although why I'm flirting with a witch who could turn me into a hamster in the blink of an eye, I have no idea, but I live a very fucked up life and just roll with it.

"Thank you. Yes. Coffee, black please." I turn on my best I'm-too-sexy-for-my-clothes smile. She huffs out a little exasperated laugh as she turns to pour my coffee and I count that as a small victory. She's not dropping the toga yet but I got a smile out of her.

She carries over the drinks, sits mine on the table in front of me and I bat my eyelashes exaggeratedly at her.

"As charming as you are... NO, Mr. Winchester." yet her smile widens as I wink at her. Truthfully, I know she won't give in and I truly don't want her to but she challenged my manhood and I couldn't just let it go.

"Is it all out of your system yet, Mr. Winchester?"

"Not yet. Let me just say that, lady, I've got moves you've never seen before! Ok. Now I'm done. Match make away." Her eyebrows rise but she chuckles and now _I_ feel better.

"Back to business then. I believe that you could do with a wish, Dean Winchester. Look at the pamphlet now." I pick it up and turn it over.

The front page is cobalt blue with several yellow shooting stars streaking across the background. The yellow type across the bottom reads, "It's Everything You Want." I start a bit at the title thinking of my "other" mom from the dream world. Opening the leaflet I see a picture of a pretty dark-blond, curly-haired woman with soft brown, almost beseeching, eyes. I start reading but stop immediately when my eyes see the word djinn.

"You want to hook me up with a genie?" I exclaim in shock but secretly I'm ecstatic. I could recreate that dream word that I so desperately wanted to go back to. I could see mom again! Forget about Carmen, I could have Lisa and Ben, even though in my real life being with them is just a shitty pipe dream. I'd told the real Lisa that her life wasn't my life and I'd meant it, (God, had that only been 5 days ago?) but now for the bargain price of two-hundred dollars they would be mine.

Maybe I could alter this dream, fix my and Sam's relationship and so many other things. I marvel at the possibilities, at the chance to escape my miserable reality and not die doing it.

"It is the best match for you. I can't imagine that you'd want to be cursed by a witch or let a vampire nibble on you." I shake my head absently still thinking of what I want my genie wish to be. "Then, yes, a genie is your match. Now, we need to discuss payment, nondisclosure agreement, and a special contract that I had drawn up just for you." I've been listening with only half an ear, still reveling at the fact that in a very short time I'll be back in that dream world again, but when Madam Hecate says the words payment and nondisclosure, I snap out of my reverie and nod cautiously.

"Ok, I owe you two-hundred dollars for the consult. Is there anything else?" I pull my wallet from my back pocket and discover that my gun is missing. I fumble surreptitiously for it behind my back hoping that it had just slipped free and was sitting on the couch. I'd forgotten all about the weapon the moment I'd walked in the doors to this place. I glance up to see if Madam Hecate has noticed me groping behind myself, and note that she is regarding me with that unfathomable stare again.

"Ah, yes. Your weapon. I do believe that we warned you in our correspondence that weapons were strictly forbidden." She calmly takes a sip from her dainty tea cup, a move which somehow seems a bit menacing. "Not to worry though, your gun is back in your car in the glove compartment where it will do no harm."

"And how did it get there?"I ask, genuinely curious.

"A spell. My young apprentice Amanda, who greeted you at the door, noted that you had a weapon concealed on your person and quietly removed the threat for me."

Ahh, so the lovely librarian _was _a witch. I was right not to tangle with her. No telling what kind of evil mojo she would have worked on me. I have enough problems as it is and how would I explain some random curse or hex to Sam? So far, knock on wood, nothing bad had happened to me here and I wanted to keep it that way. The less I had to lie about to Sam the better off I'd be.

I hand Madam Hecate the money, which she then takes to a desk in the corner of the room and locks in a drawer. She comes back bearing a file folder and hands it to me.

"This folder contains our standard nondisclosure contract and the special contract that I drafted just for you. Please read them over carefully. Keep in mind that both contracts are non-negotiable and must be signed with your blood."

"My blood? What do you have against regular old ink?" I try to joke but deep down, I understand. Blood is binding. I know first hand, thinking of Sammy, that there's nothing more powerful.

"Mr. Winchester, you are a hunter. These contracts are my insurance to, not only protect my way of life here, but to also protect my employees as well. As with client confidentiality, the safety and security of my employees is a top priority. Now, please read those contracts carefully and sign them or you may consider this audience to be over and take your leave." She isn't messing around. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering why I'm even contemplating doing this, but begin reading the nondisclosure agreement.

The contracts are peppered with words like "thereby" and "wherefore"(words I'm sure my brother, with his pre-law brain, would have understood in a heartbeat.) but I get the gist. I can't tell anyone the location of the Salon. Referrals are welcome as long as _I_ send Madam Hecate to the client and not the other way around. The telling of the names of employees or what kind of entity they are is expressly forbidden. No talking about what services are offered. Basically, no talking about Madam Hecate's Salon to anyone period. If I did talk it would end in my death. This raises a question for me so I look at Madam Hecate and ask.

"Ever had anyone break the nondisclosure agreement?"

"No, it is unbreakable. Clients, for the duration of their lives, physically _cannot_ speak of this place. When they sign the contract it casts a tongue binding spell over them ."

"So no one dies?"

"No one has died in the last four-hundred years I've been doing this." I whistle in awe at the amount of time she has been running her business and at least it sort of answers another question I have. She is either a goddess, or she's a really talented witch who has managed to magic herself immortal. Neither thought is comforting.

"I guess that's why I've never heard of this _business_ before now, huh?" Hecate just smiles a slightly smug smile at me. "So this contract won't kill me either?"

"Oh yes, it will. I was willing to make certain exceptions in your case, you are, after all, Dean Winchester. Your reputation precedes you, so I took precautions." I just nod dumbly at her thought process.

She hands me a fountain pen and when I take hold of it I feel a vague tingling sensation in my hand. I look at the witch in question and she nods pointing to the contract. I shrug, hesitate for a brief moment wondering if this will come back to bite me in the ass, and sign. There is no pain but my name flows onto the dotted line in what is obviously my blood. One contract down, one contract to go.

I pull the second contract to the top of the pile and start reading. It states that by signing this contract I am prohibited from hunting or harming any employee of Madam Hecate's either on her property or off of it. To do so would result in my (surprise!) death.

I lean back in my chair and regard her with a grudging respect. Respect because she takes care of those who are her responsibility. She's obviously the kind of employer that every regular human being would love to work for. An employer who has her employees backs both inside or outside the "company".

"Before I sign, I have one question for you. If, by some strange twist of fate, I ever ran into one of your employees and they attacked me first, would I die automatically if I defend myself?" She regards me over the rim of her tea cup and I get the feeling that she is slightly amused with me. "Hey, I'm just curious. Stranger things have happened and as you've said, I_ am_ Dean Winchester, these kinds of things happen to me more often than not."

She sighs and places her tea cup back on its saucer. "It would never happen, Mr. Winchester, but on the off chance that it did, then no, you would not be held responsible for defending yourself. In fact, once the offending party was identified, their employment here at Madam Hecate's would be terminated, post haste." I got the feeling that when she said terminated, she meant that the offender would be removed from this plane of existence. That is, if I didn't terminate them first.

"I'd like that in writing, please." I politely hand her the contract. She purses her lips but I can tell that she's not angry. She takes the contract in both hands and closes her eyes in concentration and the paper glows blue for a brief moment. She then opens her eyes and hands me back the revised contract. I quickly read over it and take note of the amendment. Nodding in satisfaction, I hesitate momentarily as I realize that I'm signing away my right to hunt a bunch of creatures that go bump in the night but I can't find it in myself to get upset over a hand full of monsters when I'm so close to getting the very thing I want so badly. I sign that paper, unflinchingly, with my own blood and trust (maybe trust is too strong a word) that Madam Hecate will keep her side of the bargain. I slowly hand over the contract and look her in the eye.

"Lady, if you screw me over in any way I will find a way to seek revenge on you. Consider that both a threat and a promise." I growl menacingly.

"Rest easy, Mr. Winchester. I would never allow a client to be harmed. It's bad for business." She smiles tightly. "Before I allow you to go on any further I must tell you that, in addition to the money you paid for your consultation fee, your technician requires an additional payment. Are you familiar with how the djinn live?"

I nod, remembering how the djinn had been draining the blood from both me and the young girl in the abandoned warehouse.

"Blood. Geez, what is it with all the blood today? If I'm not careful you all will drain me dry before I can get out the door." I shake my head in annoyance.

Hecate chuckles, "Consider it the luck of the draw, I believe the adage goes. She will not drain you dry if that is your worry. She merely requires one pint. It is how she sustains herself."

"Ok, what else?"

"I will let her explain the process to you. I simply wanted to let you know her price for her services. She will be calling for you soon. Before we part ways, are there any other questions you have for me?"

"Um, yeah. With the anonymity thing, what do you do if two of your clients brush shoulders while coming or going?" Knowing my luck, although it would probably be a long shot, I'd run into another hunter in the hall. Someone who, like me, just wants an escape, something that our shitty lives cannot provide us with.

"Interesting how your mind works, Mr. Winchester." She chuckles once again. "There are rare instances where two clients will pass one another. When that happens we simply remove that specific memory from their minds. It is an easy and painless method to take care of a pesky problem."

I nod slowly and ask another question that presents itself. "So... Have you ever had to turn away a potential client? You know, someone you couldn't match?"

She inclines her head. "Yes. There have been three separate occasions where I could not find someone a compatible match."

"So, since you meet all clients face-to-face, when you couldn't match them, did you erase this place from their minds?"

"I'm willing to wager that you were proficient at piecing together puzzles as a boy, weren't you?" She appraises me with frank admiration while I smirk smugly at her praise. "You are correct. I could have made them sign the nondisclosure contract but it was much easier to simply remove all memory of my business."

"Probably saved yourself some trouble too." She quirks her eyebrows in question. "Wiping their memories probably stopped them from hounding you constantly about finding them matches." I state, thinking of just how persistent some people can be and I momentarily entertain the notion of erasing my deal from Sam's memory so that we can just go on until the hounds come for me. No, I can't do that. Too many people or creatures know about my deal now. Sam would just find out all over again and I dismiss the thought from my head.

"Yes. I learned the hard way with the first client I ever had that couldn't be matched. I eventually had to make a house call. It was the first and last time _that_ ever happened."

A red light in a line of several other red lights that I hadn't taken notice of before, blinks and Madam Hecate turns to me.

"Your technician will be here in five minutes. I will introduce you as Mr. Page and that is how she will know and address you only. She is under specific instruction not to ask your first name. If you decide to tell her that is entirely your choice, although, I wouldn't recommend it. You are well known in many circles and Dean is not a common name. Is there anything else I can tell you before we part ways, Dean Winchester?"

"Actually, yes. Why does the outside of this place look like the house that time forgot and the inside looks like it's brand new?"

"Appearances, my dear Mr. Winchester. It is a spell, a glamour, or in this case, very unglamorous. I try to dissuade people who are not clients to stay away. Every once in awhile I will receive an offer to purchase the house and the property. When that happens I try to misdirect the interested parties. If that doesn't work, I make them forget this house exists. When you leave today, turn around and look at the house. Because you are now a client, you will be able to see through the spell."

She glances up as a knock sounds at the door and motions for me to rise.

"I hope you enjoy yourself, Mr. Winchester." She ushers me to the parlor doors, opens them and proceeds right into the introductions.

"Mr. Page, allow me to introduce you to Sheridan Rose, your technician. Sheridan, this is Mr. Page. She will endeavor to make the next few hours a most pleasant experience for you." Sheridan, the woman from the picture in the pamphlet, smiles at me and offers me her hand and I shake it, acknowledging, once again, that I live a very fucked up existence. Its not everyday that I shake hands with a monster.

"Mr. Page, if you'll follow me upstairs, I'll explain the procedure and we'll get started."

"Ok. Lead on." I follow Sheridan up the steps but feel Madam Hecate watch my assent until I'm out of her line of sight.


	4. 4: Q and A with the Djinn of Destiny

**Disclaimer: All the usual jazz, I own nothing.**

**A/N: To LilyBolt, and WinchesterBabe1234, Thanks for all your support and reviews it means the world to me. Hope this chapter satisfies just as much! To anyone and everyone viewing this thank you and please feel free to review. Constructive criticism welcome, just try not to be too mean. :)**

**A/N 2: Special thanks to DeansBabyBird, if not for you this chapter would have been a hot mess! Thank you so much for your services!**

Chapter 4: Q and A With the Djinn of Destiny

I follow Sheridan Rose up the stairs and when we come to the landing, I pause, acting winded but really I'm just being a typical hunter trying to suss out if there is any danger (and quite possibly being nosy too). I look down the hallways and note that every door to every room is closed tightly against prying eyes. I listen intently for any sound that will give me a clue as to what's going on behind the thin barriers but all I'm greeted with is an unnatural silence.

I'm aware of the feeling of being watched and when I turn, I see Sheridan eying me astutely. "You won't be able to hear anything." she states.

"Let me guess, a spell?" there is a slight edge of sarcasm that I can't quite keep out of my voice and I can't say I'm surprised when she confirms my comment.

"Good guess. It goes along with the whole anonymity thing."

"Has it always been like this? All spells, all the time?" I query as she pulls me forward toward the attic.

"Mostly, although the silence spell in the hallway only came into effect after an incident that happened about a year and a half ago."

"Oh? I'm sensing a story here. Is it one you're able to tell?" I can't hide the fact that I'm intrigued even though I'm sure she won't tell me anything, not with their strict client confidentiality policy, so I'm surprised when she pauses at the foot of the attic stairs and starts talking.

"I don't recall what package they came in for and I couldn't tell you that anyway, but it was a husband and wife. After their consultation, they were put into separate scenarios,which, I didn't know was possible at the time since I'd only been working for Madam Hecate for about a year and was still learning the ropes.

"Anyway, the couple was separated and apparently the wife was..." She suddenly blushes and my curiosity ratchets up a notch. "overwhelmed by what was going on in her room and was moaning and screaming." Sheridan pauses, looking at me and I nod, now understanding that the wife had been partaking in some extramarital activities. Loudly and passionately partaking.

"Huh!" I huff, slightly amused.

"Yeah, so her husband was only one door over and evidently _not_ enjoying his session as much as she was. I happened to be between clients at the moment and, lucky me, had a birds eye view for what happened next. Trust me, it wasn't pretty!" She begins to giggle almost uncontrollably.

"Well don't leave me in suspense, woman! What happened next?" I prompt her, not bothering to hide the fact that I'm unbearably curious now.

"C'mon. I'll tell you the rest when we get to my room." She urges me up the last flight of stairs and propels me gently through the middle of the three doors that lead off the narrow landing.

Momentarily distracted from the tale she was telling, I look around the sparsely furnished room. The walls are painted in an electric blue that reminds me of the color I know her eyes will turn when she sends me to my dream world. The full sized bed has a plump comforter in the same shade of blue as the walls. Off to the left of the bed is a chest of drawers with a connecting mirror that is littered with pictures of Sheridan, at various ages (although none recent), hugging a gangly brown haired man. I turn to take in more of the room and see that one corner has been turned into a reading nook of sorts, with two overflowing bookshelves flanked on either side by two worn but comfortable looking wing back stuffed armchairs. The only other piece of furniture in the room is an odd shaped recliner-that reminds me of the paper covered vinyl examination tables in doctor's offices- and I wonder if this is where she'll unleash her mojo on me.

Turning back to Sheridan, I prod her to tell me the rest of her story. It's a stalling tactic and I realize, now that I'm so close to having the thing I want most that I'm a little worried. Worried because I know, without a doubt, that I'll succumb to the seductive pull of the dream world again.

Sheridan grabs my hand, breaking me out of my musings, and ushers me over to sit in one of the high backed chairs and takes the one opposite me.

"So, where was I?" she stills, thinking back to her story. Half a minute later, she jerks as if she's been electrocuted and a frenzy of words tumble from her mouth.

"So, I was walking down the hall hearing the, oh so _unsubtle_, moans and cries of the wife, when one of the doors bursts open and this very large, very hairy, very _**naked**_ man comes barreling out. He beat on the door, screaming obscenities, and I just stood there dumbly with my mouth hanging open, but honestly, I had no idea what to do!

"Luckily, Madam Hecate showed up and she walked right up to that giant of a man, cool as a cucumber, you know how she is," I nod, smiling because she seems to need some sort of corroboration and because I had seen that almost totally imperturbable facade in action first hand. "Well, she walked right up to him and asked, 'Mr. So-and-so, what seems to be the problem?' and that grizzly bear of a man turned to her and yelled right in her face, 'THIS ISN'T WHAT I PAID FOR! YOU'RE TORTURING MY WIFE IN THERE!' After that, he turned back to the door, hollering his wife's name, her real name mind you, and Madam Hecate said to him, 'Pardon me, Mr. So-and-so, but my business is pleasure and I am an expert in my chosen field. Now, listen closely. Are those the cries of a woman being tortured?'"

I can't seem to help that my mouth falls open in amazement and I say (rather like a gossiping girl would), "No! She really said that to the guy?"

Sheridan nods and continues, "She totally did and I'll admit I thought that burly dude was going to murder her right then and there because he turned toward her, his hands held like this." She demonstrates by holding her hands out like claws in front of her and I can't help but be thoroughly engrossed in the story as well as captivated by her effervescence. Who knew monsters could be so entertaining?

"So, stupid me, I jumped in front of Madam Hecate to defend her but she just patted my shoulder and told me, 'Move aside child. I don't want you hurt by this oaf.' I wasn't sure what to do but one look at her face- she gave me that mom look, you know the one that says 'Don't argue or you'll be in deep trouble, birdsong'-and I did what I was told and moved behind her.

"So what did she do then?" I ask, now needing to know what happened to the hairy, naked husband.

"She looked at him and said, 'Mr. So-and-so, you really don't want to do this. Why don't you just go back to your own session and try to enjoy yourself?' Well, of course, he was having none of that and screamed at her again, 'LIKE HELL I WILL!' Seriously, that guy only had one volume and it was _**loud**_!

"Anyway, right as he was just inches from wrapping his hands around her throat, she snapped her fingers and he froze where he stood. It was really comical because it reminded me of a Tom and Jerry cartoon where Tom was frozen in place but his eyeballs still moved. Hairy, naked husband was just like that!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at that as Tom's googly eyeballs had always got Sammy and I giggling when we were growing up. "So, what then?" I prompted enthusiastically.

"Well after she froze him in place, she walked around him- and yes, his eyes followed her until she got out of his line of sight- and knocked on the door the wife was behind. The door didn't immediately open and Madam Hecate had to call out to... The employee, to open the door. When she did..." I burst out laughing.

"So you're telling me that not only was Mrs. McScreamerson getting her groove on with someone other than her husband, that someone was female?" Sheridan nods again and I let out a howl of laughter, "I'll bet you dollars to donuts that good ole hubby had never heard his wife enjoy _his _attentions like _that_! Oh, that's awesome!" I chuckle a minute more before I clear my throat and school my features. "Ok, sorry. Go on."

Smiling, she continues, "So when the employee opens the door, Madam Hecate calls to the wife, who comes to the door in nothing but a _sheet_, and tells her that her session is at an end. The wife wasn't too happy about that and begged to finish. Madam Hecate looked at her and told her, 'Fine, Mrs. So-and-so. I'll make you a deal. _You_ may finish.' and then she looked at the husband with this hilariously disgusted expression on her face and finished by saying, 'However, I'm going to take this husband of yours, dress him, erase this place from his memory and put him in your vehicle. When you are done here, come to my parlor and we will have a little discussion about what happened here today.'

"That little woman jumped up and down like a kid in a candy store and ran back into her room, slamming the door in Madam Hecate's face in the process. I thought she'd be mad, Madam Hecate that is, but she just chuckled."

"Yeah, I get the feeling that she's got one helluva sense of humor." I say thinking of how she'd smiled when I'd flirted with her.

"Very true."

"So what happened to the husband?"

"The employee that had been with the husband brought out all his clothes and Madam Hecate snapped him back into them, thank God, and then she snapped her fingers again and our ghostly bodyguards picked him up and..."

I can't help but interrupt her again, "Come again? You have _ghosts_ for bodyguards?"

"Yep. Can you think of anything better to guard you? I mean, they're incorporeal so they can't get hurt but threaten one of us employees and they can put a real hurtin' on you!"

"Makes sense." I reply in admiration, knowing first hand about ghostly abilities. Madam Hecate truly has this business down to a science. "So, go on. I promise not to interrupt again." she grins and continues.

"So the ghosts pick him up, he's still frozen like a statue of course, and take him to the parlor where Madam Hecate did her thing, I guess. I heard that she erased his memory and put him in the car and then chatted with the wife."

"How'd that go over?" I ask.

"Good, I'm guessing. The wife is still a client and I haven't seen hide nor hair, no pun intended, of the husband since." She smiles at me mischievously and I laugh, a good, deep belly laugh. It feels good to let go even if it's just for a moment. Things have been so tense for me and Sam lately, what with my deal and all, and I find I'm grateful that I can still laugh like this.

"Ahhh. That was one helluva story." I pause when a thought occurs to me and ask, "You won't get into trouble for telling it will you?" (Great! I'm actually worried for a monster! What the hell!)

"No. I kept the client's and employee's information confidential."

"What would happen if you did tell?" I'm genuinely interested to know how the employees handle their side of this confidentiality business.

"Oh, I had Madam Hecate put a tongue binding spell on me so I can't accidentally spill the beans on any client. I'm sure you noticed my pause when I was talking about the employee opening the door for Madam Hecate. That was the spell at work." She tips her head to the side pensively, "Come to think of it though, I think she might put all her employees under that spell but I definitely remember asking specifically for her to perform it on me. I have a tendency to run on incessantly and I didn't want one little slip of the tongue to end in my termination." The way she shudders after saying the word termination makes me think, once again, that death would be the only "termination" from this job.

"So, Mr. Page, what brings you here today?" She asks conversationally and I get the feeling that she's trying to get the show on the road.

So many words flood my mind, _I'm here to forget about my demon deal,_ or_ Here to forget that my brother died bloody in my arms, _or even _I'm here to get a quick glimpse of a normal life that I will __**never**__ have._ Instead, I give a generic answer.

"I'm here for a taste of a supernatural lifestyle, what else?" The words sound ridiculous coming from my mouth and I wish I'd just settled on shrugging.

Sheridan seems to sense the false note in my tone with a look that says, _C'mon, really?_ I look away from her face and think about telling her to mind her business and can we just get on with this.

Instead, I blurt out, "It's my dying wish." I immediately close my eyes, silently castigating myself for not just going with the mind your business line. I wonder, errantly, if she's one of **those** beings with the ability to see that I'm marked, like Madam Hecate. Too late to recant now, so I open my eyes and my gaze focuses on the woman's now stricken features.

"D-dying? Of what?" she asks, her voice quavering.

I stare at her for a moment, hating the look of pity in her eyes and on her face, and refuse to volunteer the information of my deal on the off chance that she can't see that I'm a marked man. "What do you think I'm dying of?"

Her head snaps to attention as if she's hearing some unspoken command. "It's not my place to speculate. I was just making small talk." she replies in a small voice and now it's my turn to pity her. If I'd just told her it was none of her business, we would now be forging ahead with my entertainment. Unfortunately for her, I can't let the matter rest. I have to know what she knows.

"Oh no, you started this conversation. C'mon. One guess." A thought occurs to me and I quickly tack it onto the end of my previous sentence. "Or can you just pluck the answer from my head?"

A look of annoyance passes across her face before she quickly schools her features. I'm a djinn, Mr. Page. I grant wishes, not read minds."

"Fair enough. Still, I'd like to hear your guess." I press and she nods, then sits quietly and studies me as if I'm a puzzle. I decide that she can't see the mark or else she probably would have said something to me already, at least, that's what I'm hoping. I feel something uncoil inside me and tension I was unaware of even having, slowly ebbs from my body. After a couple minutes pass, she finally speaks.

"Cancer?" she asks and her guess sounds better than having to tell about my demon deal so I run with it.

I nod my head and force my features into an appropriately solemn expression, which isn't hard considering. "Good guess." I echo her words from earlier.

Her eyelids drop, breaking eye contact, "I'm sorry. How long?"

"A little under a year." I answer quickly and I feel my throat constrict in panic at actually saying the words aloud. For some reason with this stranger, this monster, my situation seems so much more close and present.

She apologizes again.

"Not your fault." I reply. Not anyone's fault but mine because I couldn't live with my brother being dead. I bite the inside of my cheek hoping to divert my thoughts to the physical pain instead of the mental anguish.

"No, it's not, but I will try to make this experience as pleasant as possible for you." she pauses and looks as though she is gathering her courage, for what I'm not sure but she doesn't leave me in suspense for long.

"Is there.. Is there nothing your doctors can do for you?" Immediately, Sam's face pops into my mind and I know that he is diligently searching for a "cure" to my predicament as Sheridan and I speak.

"Apparently not." Definitely not, unless Sam_ wants_ to drop dead but I'll **never** let that happen.

"Does anyone else know that you're sick? Family? Friends?" I can see her genuine concern for me and I'm surprised and slightly touched by it. I debate telling her that yes, my brother knows, but I decide against it. The less personal this gets (too late!), the better for all of us.

"No. No one. I just got the news myself recently. Which reminds me, this _condition_ of mine won't hurt you, will it? I mean, with you taking my blood?" Once again, it feels strange to worry about hurting a monster, even inadvertently and even though I don't actually have cancer, but I can't seem to stop myself.

"No. Human afflictions and diseases don't affect me. I don't even get colds." She smiles a tiny smile and I understand that she's trying to lighten the mood so I let her.

"Lucky girl. Every person on Earth would envy you that ability." I chuckle and she joins in.

"Before we begin, Mr. Page, I need to go get a couple of things. I'll be right back." I nod at her.

"I'm not going anywhere." I call out to her retreating form as she exits the room.

Once she's shut the door behind her, I stand and move to look out of her solitary window and gaze out over the _now_ manicured lawn. Madam Hecate had said it was just a glamour that made the house look derelict. The lawn I'm looking at now is beautiful and I know that if it looks this good then she had done one hell of a job on that spell because what I had seen upon arrival had been overgrown and dead looking.

I continue to stare out the window letting my mind wander and my thoughts shift to Sam. I bet he's sitting in that motel room, talking to Bobby about my deal or researching ways on his own to get me out of my it. Scratch that, I know he is, stubborn man that he is and it occurs to me suddenly why I didn't want him with me on this "hunt". It's because, for me, this isn't a hunt and was never meant to be a one. It's an escape. I'm not sure when it changed from being a case to being a sort of sick saving grace for me, but I do know that it was before I'd even left Sam back at the shabby motel we were staying in. This was the reason I had to come alone. Sam would never understand. Hell, I barely understand myself, I just know I need this like a man in the dessert craves water.

The door behind me opens, pulling me out of my reverie, and Sheridan enters. I turn and notice the items in her hands. A sterile vacutainer for the blood collection, a pair of wrapped gloves and a couple of alcohol prep pads.

"Mr. Page are you ready to get started?" she asks and I simply nod. "Good. Have a seat in the chair by the window and I'll explain what's going to happen."

"Before we start, do you mind answering a few questions for me?" I inquire.

"I'll answer whatever I can."

"Who's the man in the pictures with you?" She stiffens almost imperceptibly and I'm sure I've, unwittingly, struck a nerve.

"What pictures?" She evades.

"The ones taped to your mirror."

"Oh..." her voice trails off and an uncomfortable silence takes its place.

"Look if you don't want to answer, I don't mind. I'm just curious." I tell her feeling as though I've crossed some forbidden boundary that I'm not supposed to.

"My father. Before he died." Her head is bowed and I feel sympathy well up inside me. I know how she feels having lost my dad only a year ago.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I say sincerely but don't tell her about my dad. Too much personal information has been shared already and I can hardly blame her for not wanting to talk about this with a stranger.

"Thank you." I'm eager to change the subject and clear away the sudden pall that has fallen over the room.

"So, what made you want to work for Madam Hecate?"

Her head slowly raises and she looks at me incredulously.

"What? What'd I say?" I ask, wondering if I had somehow stuck my foot in my mouth again?

"Nothing." she clears her throat and lowers her head again, toying with the packaging of her blood collection paraphernalia . "Ummmm... To answer your question I guess I'd need to give you some background on what it is to be a djinn." I nod, relieved that I haven't blundered so badly that she won't talk at all and wait for her to continue. She motions me over to the weird recliner that I'd been checking out earlier and I sit down and relax into it.

"Do you know anything about djinn?" she asks. I nod slowly, knowing that I'm treading dangerous waters and have to be careful how I answer so that I don't give away my hunter roots.

"I know that you're a genie and that you need blood to survive." My answer sounds innocent to my ears and could have easily been something that I'd gleaned from my dealings with Madam Hecate.

"Yes. This is all true. What you probably don't know is that most djinn live on the outskirts of society. They kidnap people and poison them with their, for lack of a better word, venom. It's this venom that causes a hallucinogenic coma and at the same time, targets the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus which produce endorphins. Endorphins, in addition to being a natural pain killer and giving the victims a sense of well-being, also sweeten the blood. The djinn will keep their victims alive in this comatose state for days while they drain them dry. This is why the victim is, for the most part, happy in their dream."

"Wow!" I comment and am truly surprised at her in-depth explanation. "Is that how you used to live before coming here?"

"No and yes. When I was with... my father, he and I would take a couple of people, trance them up and take only what we needed to survive. Afterwards, we would take them back to where we found them, revive them, which takes awhile to take effect, and leave them with maybe a bit of a hangover but really none the wiser. This was a much simpler system than just killing our victims. We didn't have to worry about body disposal- the guilt that went along with it-or moving from place to place to avoid detection. Most of the time, although there were rare occurrences, our victims and their families never missed them since we only took them for a couple hours. After my dad was killed..." Her voice breaks and I can almost feel the intensity of her sorrow.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to upset you." I don't try to hide my genuine sympathy for her loss and she nods, stoically acknowledging my apology as she continues.

"He was murdered by hunters. I managed to escape simply because I was out scouting for our next meal but I was there for the end of it." I tense at her answer. Shit! Shit! Shit! Did Sam and I kill her father? I think back to the face in her pictures. No! My djinn was bald and tatted up and had smelled of death and decay. Plus, the djinn who'd attacked me was draining every drop of blood from his victims. If Sheridan notices my slightly rigid posture she says nothing and I hope that she just attributes it to an intense reaction to her story. I release the breath I hadn't been aware I was holding and relax knowing I was safe.

"I went berserk when I saw them stab him over and over again while he pleaded for his life. I became a killer that night. All the precautions my father and I took over the years to preserve life just flew out the window and I attacked them. I didn't want any part of the men who had killed my father inside me so I didn't drain them. Instead, I beat them to death with a piece of iron pipe and then I took them to an abandoned lot in the middle of nowhere and burned their bodies. I then returned for my father and buried him in a secluded glade that we would hide in when things sometimes got a little hairy.

"After that, I kind of gave into the cravings. It was too hard to hunt down people, take only what I needed and return them to their normal lives. It reminded me of my father and I couldn't handle it alone. So, I became a vigilante of sorts. I hunted in the ghetto, only taking the dregs of humanity. Murders, thieves, drug users and trust me there were plenty of all three, but the killing... I wasn't raised like that, I couldn't separate myself from it and most of the time I just felt awful about hurting people no matter how bad they were. I'd try to hold out against the hunger as long as I could but inevitably I'd get so hungry that I had to hunt." I watch her as she stares down at her clenched hands and in that moment she reminds me of Lenore, the "vegetarian" vampire.

"So, you felt guilt?" my question is almost a statement of fact as I try to figure her out.

"Of course I felt guilt, I still do. Not for those hunters. As far as I'm concerned they got what they deserved. For all the other people I killed? Absolutely. I mean, who wants to be a monster?"She pauses opens her mouth and closes it just as quickly and I wonder what she wants to say.

"I slipped once when I went too long in between kills. I was mad with hunger, ravenous. My judgement was sorely affected and I took and drained a family man. He had two children and was happily married." Her voice chokes to a stop and I tense up thinking of the family who lost their husband and father too soon. There are too many parallels to be drawn between that family and my own so I just shove those thoughts far, far away. I can't hunt her due to my contract with Madam Hecate (not that I have a weapon that would work anyway) and I honestly don't want to hurt her. Right now, I mostly feel sympathy for her. Strange world I'm in now where I can feel bad for a monster.

"I went to his funeral, watched from a distance, in an attempt at some sort of penance but when I saw their misery... Saw what I'd done to that innocent, loving family, I remembered my father and I..." She breaks off again and I hold my tongue as she tries to collect herself.

"Madam Hecate found me holding a knife to my chest about to end my own life and talked me down then explained her business and asked if I wanted a position here. I accepted and have been here ever since. The benefits are good and I take care of my hunger now without killing anyone. It's win-win for me. Of course, I'd be happier if this wasn't my life but we are what we are and we do what we have to."

I nod my agreement at her last statement as I think of Sammy. I'd done what I had to do. I'd saved my little brother. Now, here I am, smack dab in the middle of monster central asking a "humanitarian" djinn to hop me up on some good hallucinogenics so that I can go to my happy place again. A place where my mom and Jess are still alive. A place where Sam gets to continue his education at Stanford. Where I can be with Lisa and raise Ben as my own.

This time around, there would be no sickly looking girl to distract me, no one for me to have to save. No dead, desiccated bodies hanging in the closet indicating that there was something terribly amiss. Most of all, I would not be thinking of the deadline hanging around my neck. This is purely a selfish venture and I'm going to throw myself into it with reckless abandon.

"Are you ready to do this?" Sheridan asks me and I notice that while I've been daydreaming she's been busy readying her equipment for my blood collection.

I nod but feel the urge to find out if she's ok. "Hey, you alright? That was some pretty heavy stuff you just told me. Do you need to, I don't know, take a minute?" she smiles sadly.

"I'm alright now. Truth be told, I think I must have needed to get that off my chest. Thank you for listening and not judging too harshly."

"Sure." That's me, Dean Winchester, monster counselor extraordinaire.

Wow! What the hell is happening to me? I kind of miss when things were black and white. Find a monster and just gank it. Now, monsters have feelings and some of them even seem to have a conscience. What. The. Hell? I can't bring myself to truly care either way right now because I'm minutes away from seeing my family, well, the perfect dream version of them, again.

"Ok, here's what's going to happen. I'll insert the needle to start collecting your pint of blood. Then, I'll put you into a trance. I'm going to set a timer for two hours. When time is up, I'll wake you and then you'll stay here and rest for about thirty minutes after your session. I'll get you a drink while you get your equilibrium back from both the blood loss and the trance. When you're ready to leave, take a pamphlet with you."

"Why do I have to hang around for thirty minutes after my session is done? And what do I need another pamphlet for?" I can't be taking back any evidence that Sam could use to figure out where I've been.

Sheridan smiles indulgently at me as if she can hear my thoughts. "It's a blood donation pamphlet from The Red Cross so that you"ll have an alibi if you need to hide this from anyone. As for lingering thirty extra minutes, it's a safety precaution that Madam Hecate insists upon and that I adhere to wholeheartedly. You don't want to get woozy and wrap your car around a tree do you?"

I shake my head and wonder if I'm ever going to stop being surprised by how well thought out this whole business is. A blood donation pamphlet to explain away the needle mark in my arm. Recuperation time from the trance and the blood loss. "Who knew a witch could be so benevolent?" I chuckle as Sheridan wraps a tourniquet around my bicep.

"I'm not so sure it's benevolence as much as it is good business sense. If clients get injured, word gets out, business goes down hill... You get the picture." Sheridan explains while poking my inner elbow looking for a vein.

"Loud and clear." I look down to see that she has already inserted the the needle, "Man, you're good. You could have been a nurse..." I let the sentence trail off seeing as the next words out of my mouth were going to be "if you weren't a monster." I don't think saying that would go over too well.

"You ready? Time is ticking away." She warns me as she releases the tourniquet from my arm but smiles at my compliment of her skills.

"Let's do this!" I blurt out. Sheridan's eyes suddenly glow blue and the ghostly hallucinogenic tattoo grows up her arm and leaps to life from her hand. I close my eyes as she touches my face in a gentle caress and then, I drift away.

**A/N: The phrase "Big trouble, Birdsong" comes from a commercial in the the 80's for Liberty National Bank in Kentucky, which no longer exists. I did not know this till I looked it up. My original point of reference for this comes from having my own mother spout this at me when I was being less than angelic. :)**


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